Lord Kilcullen walked on silent for a considerable time, during which Fanny went on talking about London, Almack’s, and the miserable life of lady patronesses, till at last she also became silent, and began thinking of Lord Ballindine. She had, some little time since, fully made up her mind to open her heart to Lord Kilcullen about him, and she had as fully determined not to do so after what Selina had said upon the subject; but now she again wavered. His manner was so kind and affectionate, his interest in her future happiness appeared to be so true and unaffected: at any rate he would not speak harshly or cruelly to her, if she convinced him how completely her happiness depended on her being reconciled to Lord Ballindine. She had all but brought herself to the point; she had almost determined to tell him everything, when he stopped rather abruptly, and said, “I also am leaving Grey Abbey again, Fanny.” “Leaving Grey Abbey?” said Fanny. “You told me the other day you were going to live here.” “So I intended; so I do intend; but still I must leave it for a while. I’m going about business, and I don’t know how long I may be away. I go on Saturday.” “I hope, Adolphus, you haven’t quarrelled with your father,” said she. “Oh, no,” said he: “it is on his advice that I am going. I believe there is no fear of our quarrelling now. I should rather say I trust there is none. He not only approves of my going, but approves of what I am about to do before I go.” “And what is that?” “I had not intended, Fanny, to say what I have to say to you for some time, for I feel that different circumstances make it premature. But I cannot bring myself to leave you without doing so;” and again he paused and walked on a little way in silence—“and yet,” he continued, “I hardly know how to utter what I wish to say; or rather what I would wish to have said, were it not that I dread so much the answer you may make me. Stop, Fanny, stop a moment; the seat is quite dry; sit down one moment.” Fanny sat down in a little alcove which they had reached, considerably embarrassed and surprised. She had not, however, the most remote idea of what he was about to say to her. Had any other man in the world, almost, spoken to her in the same language, she would have expected an offer; but from the way in which she had always regarded her cousin, both heretofore, when she hardly knew him, and now, when she was on such affectionate terms with him, she would as soon have thought of receiving an offer from Lord Cashel as from his son. “Fanny,” he said, “I told you before that I have my father’s warmest and most entire approval for what I am now going to do. Should I be successful in what I ask, he will be delighted; but I have no words to tell you what my own feelings will be. Fanny, dearest Fanny,” and he sat down close beside her—“I love you better—ah! how much better, than all the world holds beside. Dearest, dearest Fanny, will you, can you, return my love?”